


Outpatient

by deixisdyad



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, I'm incapable of not inserting humor into every situation, M/M, Medical Procedures, Pre-Canon, SEP fic, Super Soldier Serum, in which Jack can't shut his damn mouth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 03:25:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8234399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deixisdyad/pseuds/deixisdyad
Summary: One of them was new to this. The other was a veteran.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for brief description of needles used in a medical setting.

Jack Morrison tilted his head back against the thin padding of the operating table to stare at the high ceiling above him. He counted the tiles and the strips of lights and noticed a domed loudspeaker at the center. A team of attendants in white uniforms strapped his arms and legs down. Jack wore only a thin surgical drape, which made him colder in the cold room. One of the machines behind him beeped in a timed rhythm. It was the only sound save for the soft muffled noises of shoes walking against the sterilized floor. The operating theater was white, like the attendants' uniforms. The doctors and scientists behind the observation windows on the walls above him would also being wearing white, Jack supposed. He could not see them.  
  
"What's your name?" he asked the attendant standing beside him. She tapped symbols on her electronic tablet. Her hair was pulled back into a neat bun at the nape of her neck.  
  
"Nina," she said, without looking up.  
  
"Nina. Nice name. There was a Nina in my hometown."  
  
"Keep still, Private."  
  
Jack kept still.  
  
They stuck clear tabs to his skin, two on his chest and one on his back. These were also cold, and Jack's skin jumped with the application of each one. He tried to laugh it off. The tabs corresponded to a wireless device, which was activated by a different medic.  
  
The attendant called Nina gripped his right arm and jabbed a plastic applicator tube into it with force. Jack felt the prick of the injection. The pressure of the fluid made his ears tense.  
  
"What's that for?"  
  
"Heart rate stabilizer. Relaxes lung muscles."  
  
"Oh."  
  
He was jabbed again in his chest and his back. His thigh was last.  
  
"Nina," he said, "nice name. She was nice, too. The girl in my hometown, I mean. Family owned the second field down from the community center. I went to junior high with her. She decided to go full time on the farm, after that. Married a nice lady, I think. City lady."  
  
"Private Morrison."  
  
"Ma'am?"  
  
"Stop talking."  
  
Jack stopped talking.  
  
On the third day after the enhancement program began, each participant had been given a shot of watered-down serum, like a vaccine. The drills came afterwards. Four or five important-looking people had looked on over their thick eyeglasses and scribbled down notes on their electronic pads. The memo containing an appointment time and date was sent to Jack’s portable device a week later.  
  
"Final subject of Round One." The domed loudspeaker on the ceiling had been activated. It was the project's lead supervisor speaking from behind the observation windows. Jack recognized her thin voice.  
  
"All prepared, we hope," she said.  
  
"Not really," Jack replied to the room.  
  
"Your honesty is refreshing. It makes our job easier when patients understand what they're up against."  
  
"Respectfully, I don't know anything about what I'm up against."  
  
"That can be improved. You'll find every molecule in your body will be improved, Private Morrison."  
  
Jack had not seen enough active duty to be promoted to sergeant before his C.O. delivered the news. He became the youngest and greenest in the entire enhancement program. It was a lonely privilege. On the first day, only one person had spoken to Jack.  
  
"I'll do my best, ma'am. Doctor," he said.  
  
"We hope you will." The lead supervisor's tone remained measured.  
  
"Treatment will commence after we have a verbal account of your physical activity today. Everything is recorded. Dosages will be adjusted based on your answer."  
  
Jack thought.  
  
"Got out of bed at 0600. I drank the medicine I was given this morning, the milky pink stuff. Tasted awful. Sorry. Mess hall was empty so I ate alone. Took a jog. It was raining, so I didn't stay outside for long. Showered. You probably didn't need to know that part. Ate lunch in my room. I took the tablets in the cup with my tray. Did some sit-ups. Hard without a partner. I haven't seen anyone today. I-"  
  
"Thank you, Private Morrison."  
  
"Welcome," said Jack.  
  
He heard the hum of hover magnetics behind him. Two IV poles had been pushed out, one on each side of Jack. They both carried bags filled with clear solutions. His right forearm was tied, prepped, and the cannula inserted. The flush came next and then the clamp to the tube. It was nothing new. Jack had broken his leg back in high school.  
  
"Hydration," said one attendant, as he tapped his device.  
  
The process was repeated on Jack's left arm.  
  
"Anesthetic," said another attendant.  
  
Jack thought he must look like an omnic, hooked up and strapped down. The enemy.  
  
A third IV was lowered from a device above his right shoulder. This one was different. The solution inside the bag was a pale orange. It bubbled, like someone mixed a can of soda pop with a glass of water. Jack swallowed.  
  
"We're starting with your cell regrowth speed," the ceiling speaker said, "Muscular and cerebral enhancements will come later, when your healing abilities have been optimized."  
  
Rubbing alcohol stung Jack's nose as it was swabbed into the skin of his neck.  
  
"There will be side effects. The proper supplies and medications will be waiting for you in your room."  
  
An attendant turned Jack's head to the side and applied pressure. Jack felt the insertion.  
  
"What side effects?" he asked, with some urgency.  
  
"The supply kit in your room will alleviate them."  
  
The beeps of the machine beside him quickened. Jack's hands sweated. The drip chamber for the anesthetic opened.  
  
"What side effects?" Jack asked again.  
  
He tasted something bitter and metallic, but there was nothing in his mouth. Jack twisted his legs in their straps to keep himself busy. Drugged weakness set in. The attendants all monitored their devices, earpieces inserted. None of them looked at him.  
  
"What are you putting in me?" Jack’s voice was small and faint.  
  
The anesthetic hit. His vision faded, and he went limp against the operating table.

  
  


 

The med wing’s doors were white and automatic, and they opened like a mouth. Jack stumbled out of the post-op room on shaky legs. The drawstrings of his pants were left untied after several failed attempts earlier to knot them. His heart raced in his stomach, and his bones ached. Blinking didn't help his blurred vision. His mouth was dry. No one had come for him after he regained consciousness and dressed himself. He couldn't recall how he got to the med wing from his room, or the way back. A voice called out to him.  
  
"Hey."  
  
Jack propped himself up against the wall and squinted. A man stood across the corridor.  
  
"It's Reyes," the man said.  
  
Jack knew his name. He'd given it to Jack on the first day, two weeks ago. He was a commissioned officer, with a scarred face. They'd had conversations together. Jack couldn't remember what about.  
  
An arm slipped under one of his and hands gripped him firmly. Reyes had walked over to him and was helping him stand. His hands were rough and calloused. Jack thought they were the best hands in the world.  
  
"Come on, Morrison. This way."  
  
"What did they do to me? God, I feel sick. What did they do?"  
  
"They pumped you up good. You were top of the list in the drills." Reyes held him up as Jack reacquainted himself with the process of moving his legs.  
  
"Was I?" Jack said faintly.  
  
"Saw the file they made for you. Top-grade material. 'Private Jack Morrison. Exceeds expectations. Talks until you stop him.' Still can't believe they wrote that one in."  
  
"Did they?" Jack's mouth was heavy and slack.  
  
"Couldn't tell you before. Sit yourself down."  
  
"Down?"  
  
"Down on your bed, Morrison. We're in your room."  
  
Jack was lowered onto the mattress. The creak hurt his ears. Crumpled on the floor below him were his shirt and sweats from a day ago.  
  
"Don't look at my clothes," said Jack. "They're dirty. When did we get here? I don't remember getting here." He thought about antique tractors with their gears rusted together as he tried to move his neck.  
  
"I know you don't remember. Quiet. Keep your head where it is."  
  
The hands left him, and Jack ached to have them back. A cold metal tin was placed into his unsteady grip.  
  
"Let it all out."  
  
Jack's stomach punched up into his throat. He got sick into the tin, three times.  
  
"I'm sorry. It's a lot," he said thickly, after he had finished.  
  
"No more than the rest of us."  
  
"Oh," said Jack. "Good."  
  
There was nothing left in him to empty, but he retched again into the tin.  
  
"Give me your arm," said Reyes. He sat beside Jack on the bed.  
  
Jack tried to move his right arm. It felt like a sack of sore flesh and bones connected to the rest of his body.  
  
"Sorry. Stupid thing to say." Reyes's touch was gentle as he lifted Jack's arm into his lap, palm up.  
  
"They never hand out extra." He produced gauze and tape, and he took his time redressing the puncture on Jack's inner arm, replacing the original pad. Blood had already soaked through.  
  
"The drugs thin it out. Hold still for me," Reyes said. Warm fingers cupped the back of Jack's neck in order to keep it in place. Reyes replaced the dressings along the vein beneath Jack's jaw. Jack felt the steady softness of breath on his cheek.  
  
"You smell good," said Jack.  
  
"Toothpaste. Hold still."  
  
Reyes smoothed the bandages out before taping them. The trembling ache from the serum began to pace itself out in Jack's body, and the room around him came into focus. Reyes moved down to his knees on the floor, between Jack's legs, and worked on Jack's left arm. He kept the tape between his teeth before smoothing strips of it over the fresh gauze.  
  
"There you go. You're all patched up, Morrison." Reyes got to his feet. He discarded Jack's dirty bandages into the waste bin.  
  
"My supplies."  
  
"Damn medics. Looks like they haven't delivered them yet. I'll talk to someone."  
  
"They said I'd have supplies in my room."  
  
"I know, Jack. I'll talk to someone."  
  
Reyes rested his hand on Jack's shoulder and moved it up and down. They were still for a moment.  
  
Reyes took the tin from Jack's hand. For a few minutes, the only sound in the room was the thin drizzle of water washing the sick from the tin into the small sink across from the bed, down the drain and through the pipes. The faucet turned off by itself. Reyes returned and placed the clean tin on the floor beside the bed. Jack heard the plastic thump of a water bottle being set on his bedside table. His old clothes were dropped on the sheets.  
  
"Keep the tape and the gauze. Replace your bandages when you can. Get some sleep."  
  
Jack, in a haze, watched as Reyes turned and slid the door open.  
  
"Thanks," he said. “I think your toothpaste smells really nice."  
  
Reyes paused, his back to Jack. His hand rested on the door frame. Then he stepped into the hall and faced him again.  
  
"Give a shout if you need something. It'll pass. I'm headed off."  
  
Reyes readjusted the hood of his green jacket. The bandages on his neck were red.  
  
"Oh," Jack said, "wait. They told me I was the final-"  
  
"Go to sleep, Morrison." Reyes shut the door.  
  
Silence. Left by himself, Jack stared into the emptiness of the room. The air around him seemed warmer than before. He gave the drawstring of his pants a clumsy tug before collapsing on the mattress, among his clothes. The sheets were softer than he remembered. His stomach still hurt. It would pass. He closed his eyes, and he recalled the feeling of Reyes's hand as it moved up and down his shoulder, slow and steady.  
  
Jack smiled, and he fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> [muun](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonsheen) has my utmost gratitude for pushing me to finish this and for looking at unfinished drafts a thousand times. she's the real MVP.
> 
> my measured, unbiased opinion is that there are not nearly enough lesbian farmers in fanfiction.
> 
> I can neither confirm nor deny Jack goes commando.
> 
> (as always: comments appreciated!)


End file.
